


But Where Do The Nuns Come In?

by Elucreh



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: Bandom - Freeform, Camping, Family, M/M, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-17
Updated: 2009-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 04:00:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elucreh/pseuds/Elucreh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which, Brendon's family do their best, Ryan goes camping, Spencer mocks from afar, and Brendon is fascinated by Ryan's flies</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Where Do The Nuns Come In?

**Author's Note:**

> So a few days weeks ago [Brendon and Ryan did a MadLib together](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8g-Ct5zw-9U), and spent half of it looking at each other like the inside jokes would _never end_. This is therefore their fault. I also blame [](http://harriet-vane.livejournal.com/profile)[**harriet_vane**](http://harriet-vane.livejournal.com/) for encouraging me. [](http://sociofemme.livejournal.com/profile)[**sociofemme**](http://sociofemme.livejournal.com/) let me text her about fitting fish into Ryan's pants, and amazingly agreed to beta when my schedule was bad for [](http://emilyray.livejournal.com/profile)[**emilyray**](http://emilyray.livejournal.com/), who is equally awesome and told me it made her laugh. So far as I'm aware, Brendon's siblings do not have these names, live in Seattle, or otherwise exist in the ways I've described them. To be perfectly fair, this also _probably_ is not _actually_ why Ryan claims to like fishing.

The thing about Brendon's family--now--is that they do their best.

In Brendon's opinion, anyway. Ryan knows that Spencer and Jon are keeping their mouths shut just like he is, but after all, it is Brendon's family; he should get to decide. The fact that Brendon rarely-to-never goes to a family dinner without Ryan--and, if possible, Jon and Spencer too--says volumes that never get talked about.

Tonight Haley's keeping Spencer to herself and Jon actually flew to Chicago for their week off, so it's just the two of them, making polite small talk and passing the butter.

Brendon's oldest brother is in town for once; he lives someplace up near Canada, Seattle maybe, or Portland--Ryan remembers shaking his hand backstage in the rain. He and Brendon have had different enough schedules that Ryan doesn't think they've sat at this table together since the first tour.

Ryan kind of wishes that they had. Jim's Brendon's favorite brother, always has been, the one he wanted to be when he grew up. Brendon's jokes come easier with Jim there, his smiles are broader.

Not to mention that watching Brendon with his nieces is seriously one of the funniest (most adorable) things ever. Not that Brendon with his nephews isn't cute, okay, what with the dinosaurs and all, but there is absolutely nothing like a comparison of evening gown trims (Sarah likes feathers, Brendon insists on shiny beads) with Mark or Becca's boys.

"--and then _shrieked_," Brendon says, grinning. "Man, I've never seen anybody so freaked out by one tiny little worm."

"You always were a brat, Brendon," Becca says affectionately.

"Yeah, well, you always picked the prissiest people to be friends with." Brendon shoots back. "Lisa, g--good grief."

"Oh, yeah, like you can talk." Jim waggles his eyebrows at Ryan--shit, it _is_ a freakish family thing.

Brendon turns to look at Ryan, too, and tilts his head contemplatively. He only keeps the thoughtful expression on his face for about two seconds before he bursts out laughing. "Yeah, okay, okay. You win. Ross once freaked out over a potato bug--" hey, they swore they'd never speak of that again--"and worms might make him pass out. Sh--shoot, that would be awesome, I totally want to take you fishing, Ryan Ross." He leans over and bats his eyelashes at Ryan in that way he always thinks is winning.

Ryan rolls his eyes a little and looks down at his plate. Normally, you know, he'd smack Brendon around a little for talking about the potato bug incident, but it always feels weird hitting Brendon in front of his mother. Like she's going to call Ryan's mom and have a little talk with her about violence not being the answer.

"You could, you know," Mr. Urie says, unexpectedly.

"Could what, Dad?" Mark asks absently, wiping his toddler's nose with a napkin. Ryan cringes slightly.

"We could take Ryan fishing. I know Brittney's taking the kids back for Rosie's dress rehearsal, but Jim was going to stay on a few days anyway--we could take a guys' weekend in the woods."

There's a brief, uncertain silence. Ryan thinks _worms_ and _fish guts_ and _camping_, oh god, but then he looks at Brendon's stupid _face_ all hopeful and--

"That would be great, Mr. Urie," he says, weakly, and Brendon beams at him.

"Ryan Ross," he says, solemnly. "You are totally my absolute favorite." He pauses. "But don't think that means I'm handling your worm for you. I want to watch." Brendon waggles his eyebrows.

"Of course you want to watch," Ryan says, poking him in the ribs. "For you there is nothing in the whole wide world better than watching me."

"That is so, so true," Brendon says, laying his head down on Ryan's shoulder.

Most of the adult Uries cough a little.

*~*~*~*~*

"You're..._what_?"

"I don't even know, okay, Spencer?"

"Ryan. You remember my backyard when you were six, right?"

"I was _six_."

"My point being that you haven't _gotten any better_."

"Oh, fuck _you_."

Spencer laughs, and Ryan can hear Haley in the background, idle curiosity and the hummm--popopop of microwave popcorn.

"Ryan's going camping with the Uries," Spencer says, muffled the way he is when he turns away from the phone. Haley's laughter rings out clear as a bell, though.

"Fuck her, too," Ryan adds.

"Ooooh, I'm planning on it," Spencer says, smugly. "But first I think I'm going to mock you a little bit more. Seriously, you're doing this?"

Ryan squirms, flops over onto his stomach. "It's his family, Spencer, he wanted to go. What could I do?"

Spencer's quiet for a long minute. Ryan waits, fidgeting knots in his scarf.

"Yeah," Spencer says, finally. "I go to Linda's ballet recitals."

It takes Ryan a minute to place Linda, and by the time he's got his mouth open to ask what Haley's baby sister has to do with it, Spencer's said goodbye and hung up.

*~*~*~*~*

Brendon pins Ryan's hips with his knees and yells in triumph, groping for Ryan's wrist.

Ryan twists beneath him. "I damn well will--" he heaves up against Brendon with his pelvis.

"Er--"

Both of them freeze, and look up at Mark, who's standing next to the Jeep with a weird expression on his face.

Brendon sits down hard on Ryan's thighs, and Ryan grunts. "He thinks he's driving," he explains, trying to worm his fingers into Ryan's hand, where the keys are digging into his palm.

"I am driving!" Ryan protests, squirming to find a better leverage and seriously considering biting Brendon's arm. "I want to get there alive!"

"If you drive then we won't get there at _all_," Brendon says. "We have to be back on tour in three days, and I would like to see the lake before that happens!"

"Are you guys talking about driving that?" Mark nods toward the car parked in the driveway.

"What?" Brendon turns his head, and Ryan takes advantage of this distraction to roll them over. He collapses on top of Brendon, keeping his hand well out of Brendon's reach.

"Ouph. What, the car? Yeah," Brendon says, moist air muffled against the thin skin under Ryan's jaw.

Mark laughs. "Dude, we're going to Lake Telusyk. You remember it, right? You're not getting there without four-wheel drive."

"You mean I have to go _off-road_ with one of _Brendon's relatives_ driving?" Ryan asks, horrified.

"I should have thought of that," Brendon says, blowing hot and defensive into Ryan's ear. Ryan pets him absently before Brendon can get too into his sackcloth routine, and Brendon settles.

"Don't worry, Brendon gets it from Mom," Mark says, and heads back into the garage for another sleeping bag.

Ryan rolls off with a sigh, and helps Brendon up. He looks down at the knees of his jeans in some horror. "Dude, I'm covered in grass stains."

"Your fault for stealing the keys," Brendon says pissily. "Oh, jeez--you've got grass in your _hair_." He reaches up and starts flicking at the crown of Ryan's head, stroking his fingers above Ryan's ears.

Behind them, a sleeping bag thumps to the ground, and Mark stumbles a little over the words, "I'll just go--help find the coolers."

*~*~*~*~*

**wut m i doing srsly spnce theyr ptchng tents!!**

** _lol u not helping?_ **

**bden tld me 2 stp tryng all im good 4 is lookng prtty**

** _hes rite_ **

**shut up his dad looked @ me fnny he kps doing that**

** _you arent wearing iliner r u its the woods_ **

**fck u also no im not i tld u it doesnt work w the nckrchfs**

** _...maybe its the neckerchiefs_ **

**i cudnt wear my othr scrvs theyr 2 hot or 2 ez 4 trees 2 snag**

** _...never mind when else did he give u looks?_ **

**we cudnt gt the car 2 ft all the gear plus us and bden said hed jst sit on me **

**and whn i ws tellng the stry abt the green paw prnts on his undrwr**

**it ws rlvnt i swear we wr talkng abt panty raids**

**shut up his brthr strtd the convo**

**and whn we wr unlodng and i dont evn get it i ws jst laffng at bden**

**wtf spnce srsly**

**spnce? **

** _um_ **

**so hlpfl**

** _sorry i got nothing talk to bden_ **

**i cant ask him y his dad is lkng @ me fnny**

** _then you are beyond my help gtg anyway_ **

**fuck u say hi to haley**

** _k later_ **

"Ryan!" Brendon bounds over to where he's shamefacedly contemplating his shoes. "Jim found a spot for the other tent! C'mon!"

"Thought all I could do was stand here looking pretty," Ryan says dryly.

"It's a pop-up tent, Ryan."

Jim comes over, the other tent slung under one arm. "It's a bit of a hike, but it's level, and you guys can probably use the space."

Ryan nods politely, although he's thinking to himself that while, yeah, space after the bus is nice, sharing it with Brendon kind of negates the point.

"Brendon, go grab the hammer, will you?" Jim asks, and Brendon heads toward the first tent, which is almost completely up. Jim jerks his head to indicate the direction, and Ryan follows him.

"I really appreciate you guys coming out with us, Ryan," Jim says, looking over his shoulder. "I know you only get this week off, it means a lot you'll come out and sleep on rocks when you could be in a bed."

"Yeah, well--" Ryan really doesn't have an end to that sentence. "You know," he offers, lamely.

"And all that stuff about sound travelling near water is totally a myth, if that helps."

Ryan has to stop and blink, puzzled, and it takes running a few steps to catch up.

*~*~*~*~*

It turns out, the pop-up tent _is_ pretty easy to put up, and then they require firewood, which even Ryan can help out with, so he doesn't have to stand around being useless. As twilight gets on, Brendon builds a pile of kindling with surprising competence, and he smiles up at Ryan when he accepts a new bundle of wood. Ryan smiles back.

Ryan helps get the hot dogs onto skewers, ready for roasting, and is somehow surprised when one of the skewers taps him from behind, hot dog poking at his cheek.

"En garde!" Brendon exclaims, and raises his weapon, ready for attack. The other Uries turn to watch. Ryan grins and picks up the skewer he just finished preparing, lunging forward to thrust at Brendon with the meat. Brendon fends him off, dancing backward, and swerves to avoid the fire pit. Their skewers clash with Brendon's counter-attack, and Ryan disengages to swing at Brendon's unprotected face. Brendon yelps and retreats again; they're facing each other across the flames now, swords wrestling for control, jammed against each other. Ryan tugs his skewer free and pulls it back toward him, bringing with it Brendon's sausage, which falls into the fire.

"Ha-_ha_!" Ryan gloats, grinning across the flames at his defeated friend. Their audience applauds.

Brendon pouts. "You killed my dinner, Ryan! That wasn't very nice!"

"You attacked a man when his back was turned," Ryan counters, sticking out his tongue. "I don't think you can talk."

"But now I'll _starve_!"

"Yes, now you'll have to eat six hot dogs instead of seven," Brendon's father says wryly. "Oh, the tragedy of it!"

Brendon sighs hugely, then grins. "If I'm hungry I guess I'll just have to eat one of Ryan's sausages."

There's--kind of a weird pause.

*~*~*~*~*

Spencer calls as the stars are coming out, Brendon's acoustic talking softly to his brothers'. Ryan lifts his head from Brendon's knee and gets up to keep from interrupting.

He leans back against a tree a little ways away.

"Hey, lumberjack." He can hear the grin in Spencer's voice, small and fond.

"Hey, city-boy."

"Glass houses, wimp. I'm pretty sure you aren't any use out there."

"Hey, I collected firewood, I--hit something that goes in the ground."

"...a tent stake? Or, like, a rabbit?"

"You seriously think I could have hit a moving target?"

"Yeah, okay, point. Brendon holding up okay?"

"He's a little sulky; I beat him in a duel."

"What were the stakes?"

"I got to keep my hot dog."

"...that a euphemism?"

"Spencer!"

Spencer snorts, and a little silence falls between them. A soft wind rustles the leaves above him, and the crickets sing in the bushes.

"Seriously, Ry, how you holding up?"

Ryan watches the firelight flicker, Brendon's face in shadow, his hands moving idly across the strings.

"It's really beautiful here."

*~*~*~*~*

Ryan knows, he _knows_, that Brendon is messing with him. He knows that his humiliation is the goal of this _entire camping trip_.

He just can't face sticking a _hook_ through a _worm_, okay? It's just _nasty_.

He tries, he really and _truly_ tries, if only because looking like an idiot is bad, but doing it in front of Brendon's family is worse.

He takes a deep breath, and picks up the cool, moist, _writhing_ little creature between two fingers. With his other hand, he lifts the hook and pushes it into the worm.

_Ooze_ comes out, and Ryan drops the whole thing with a wince.

Brendon is cackling with glee, and he has his Sidekick out--oh, _shit_\--but his brothers and father are valiantly pretending not to see anything funny.

Jim pats him on the shoulder. "Like to tie flies with me? I've got a book about it. I don't handle boats very well, I always stay behind."

Ryan gives him a relieved smile. "Thanks. Just let me send a text first?"

*~*~*~*~*

**SPNCR WTVR YOU DO DONT LK @ THE PICS BDENS SNDNG U**

** _hahahahaha god blackmail for 30 years at LEAST_ **

**jrk**

*~*~*~*~*

Ryan and Jim are sitting by the campsite with the fly-tying book and a lot of wire, idly discussing baseball (what? Ryan listens when Jon talks every once in a while, all right?) when the boat comes splooshing back in a wave of oars, banging against the tiny dock as the rower shoves the boat too far forward.

Mr. Urie's voice rings out, "Brendon!"

"No, dad, just--you know what? F--fish off!"

Brendon comes stomping through the trees, sun glinting off the ridiculous sunglasses shoved up on his head. He doesn't even glance at them, just hurls himself through the trees toward the tent, crushing underbrush and probably baby bunnies with his heedless feet.

"Well, that was a lovely and peaceful forty-five minutes," Jim mutters.

Ryan spits out, "I _knew_ he couldn't manage if I left him on his own with them--" and scrambles after him, most likely killing whatever wildlife was left after Brendon's rampage up the path. "We all know he can't stop himself, but no, they're my family, Ryan, I can totally--"

Brendon disappears into their tent, and Ryan stops mumbling savagely under his breath to take a moment of being appalled at the fact that Brendon's muddy shoes are now all over his sleeping bag. Grah. _Camping_. What the hell are they _doing_ here?

He groans inwardly and toes his own sneakers off--there's no need to make the mess worse, his _pillow_ is in there--before slipping through the slit in the tent. Brendon's sprawled face-down across the tent, with his filthy feet--yes, on Ryan's sleeping bag, and his face buried in his own pillow. He's muttering, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_\--" and Ryan's kind of at a loss.

"You know you can say that out loud around me, right?" he says, finally.

"Oh, fuck _off_, Ross." Brendon hurls a pillow at him.

Ryan dodges it pretty easily--Brendon has horrible aim when he's upset. He sighs and flops down beside Brendon's legs, reaching out to stroke his calves like unhappy puppies. Gradually, the tension seeps out of Brendon's muscles, and he curls around to burrow his head into Ryan's lap. Ryan switches to petting Brendon's head, combing fingers through his hair and rubbing the soft vulnerable skin behind his ears. After a few minutes, Brendon makes a soft snuffly sound, and the last of the stiffness seeps out of his neck.

Ryan lets a hand drift down to trace along Brendon's jawline and cheek. "Better?"

"A little." Brendon's voice is muffled against Ryan's thigh. He sighs softly and rolls over, looking up into Ryan's face with enormous sad eyes. "I just can't seem to stop trying to make them get _me_, love _me_, can I?"

"Hey. _Hey_. They do love you. They don't--they don't get you, you're right, they probably never will, and you've gotta keep on coming to terms with it, but they can't help it, and they do _love_ you. They keep trying. We're here, aren't we?"

"Yeah." Brendon turns his face back into Ryan's hip to say softly, "It's not enough."

"You've got us to make up the rest of it," Ryan promises, just as soft.

Brendon's hand on Ryan's back tightens, bunching the fabric of his shirt. "Yeah," he says, suddenly fierce. "I've got you."

When they come out, Brendon's quieter than he has been, but he smiles as he offers to clean the fish Mark and Mr. Urie brought back. They accept, with their own polite smiles, and Ryan turns his head to catch Jim looking at him with awe in his face.

"What?" he asks, defensively.

"Dude," Jim says disbelievingly. "The last time that happened they _all_ sulked for three days. The phone calls were _epic_. You're like _magic_. He had better be keeping you."

Ryan's not quite sure why he flushes.

*~*~*~*~*

**bg blwup 2dy w dad and mrk**

** _shit bden ok?_ **

**thnk so bt im gld i ws hre mud r no mud**

** _me too_**

*~*~*~*~*

"Has there ever been a time that you couldn't get into my pants, Ryan?" Brendon demands. "So shut up and take it."

"Maybe if you weren't so freaking _short_," Ryan complains, "and a little less _wide_," he stops to curse under his breath, "I would enjoy the prospect a little more."

"Yours used to be the same length as mine, dude, I wouldn't talk." Brendon shoves at him.

"Yeah, but then I _grew_. Into, you know, a _man_."

"Says the _man_ whose issues with a little blood are causing all the fuss." Brendon offers his family a wide grin. "Morning!"

The men around the campfire turn to greet them, and almost immediately turn back again, ducking their heads. Ryan knows they're hiding smiles. He sighs.

"It's all right, I know it's ridiculous," he tells them, resigned.

Jim and Mark snort and start chuckling, and Brendon's dad grins. "I take it Brendon lent you some pants?"

The grey sweats are nearly falling off Ryan's hips, even with the drawstring pulled tight, but still show a couple of inches of bare ankle. He makes a face and hitches them up again. "Yeah, I was counting on yesterday's jeans to get me through today."

"But he got, like, three drops of blood spattered on him when I was cleaning the fish," Brendon says, still grinning. "And since he is a big p--pathetic wuss, he won't wear them."

"Oh, shut up," Ryan says, and goes to help with breakfast while Brendon throws a little more wood on the fire.

After breakfast, Brendon's dad asks if they had any luck with the fly-tying yesterday.

"Oh, yeah, Ryan finished like, seven, didn't you, Ryan?"

"Uh...yeah," Ryan nods at Jim and goes to grab the little bag of finished flies.

There's a silence.

"Ryan--you _made_ these?" Mr. Urie asks, finally. "Just, out of the book?"

"Well, yeah," he says, with a shrug. "I mean, it's just following the instructions and putting things together." The one with the feathers was actually a lot like constructing a satin rose. Ryan misses sewing; he makes a mental note to stick his basket on the bus when they go back on tour.

He looks up and realises that Mr. Urie is looking at him funny again. But a different kind of funny.

"These are--really good, Ryan," he says, finally, and Ryan realises Mr. Urie is looking at him with _respect_. It is a completely new experience. He even gets a pat on the back as they head toward the boat and the lake.

He manages to fold himself into the boat without doing anything too embarrassing, and even to cast his line in the water. He relaxes a little.

This is a mistake.

The pole starts to tug in his hands, and Ryan frantically tries to remember what he's supposed to do next. It's chaos for a few minutes, everybody shouting at him as he tries to get the fish out of the water, and then he _does_ get the fish out of the water, but it's flopping around a lot and it keeps missing going in Mark's net and then somehow--Ryan will never figure out how--it ends up going down inside his pants.

His _pants_. There is a cold, wet, floppy thing _wiggling next to his dick_, and Ryan maybe freaks out a little more than is justified, but _seriously_.

Fortunately Brendon is apparently very competent with live fish and scoops it out with his hands, throwing it into the fishing basket.

Mr. Urie isn't looking at him with respect anymore, in fact he's kind of pointedly looking out at the lake. Ryan groans inwardly. He's really been trying to get Brendon's dad to like him better.

But not even for another back-slap is he going to sit here with _fish_ scales _inside his pants_. "Can we, uh--"

"We'll get you back to shore," Mark assures him, and picks up the oars.

He changes quickly, swiping at his thighs and dick with a tissue and grimacing. He cannot _wait_ to get back to a place of _indoor plumbing._

Jim looks up from the paperback he's been reading when Ryan gets back to the firepit. "Fish down the pants, huh?"

Ryan scowls, and Jim grins. "Happens to the best of us."

Ryan rolls his eyes and settles on the ground with his feet up on a log. Maybe if he sleeps long enough they'll forget about this before he wakes up. Right, Rip Van Winkel, why not try playing a game of ninepins, too?

He jolts out of a half-doze when Jim says, "Hey, Ryan?"

"Yeah?"

"Pass me that duffle? I think dad hid some chips in it."

Ryan sits up and stretches. "Will you share?"

"Do you like sour cream and onion?"

"...yeah, okay, you don't have to share." He tosses the half-zipped duffle bag to Jim, and something small falls out of one of the pockets. He picks it up, and it's a packet of earplugs, the good kind Ryan's dad used when he shot skeet.

"I didn't know your family liked to hunt."

There's an embarrassed pause. Finally, Jim says, "Uh, no, just, our dad, he's still kind of getting used to things, and I think hearing you guys might send him into shock, and earplugs are cheaper than hospital bills and therapy, so..."

Ryan frowns. "Hearing us what?"

Jim looks even more embarrassed. "Well, you know Dad, he's not so much with--alternate lifestyles, he's trying, okay, just..."

Ryan's too busy remembering how to _breathe_ to answer him.

*~*~*~*~*

**Spncr spncr hlp bden's fmly thnk wre FCKING wtf wt do i do w tht?**

**Spnce? Spnce will u pck up yr sk hr**

**is haley dstrctng u w sx agn**

**spnce ths is IMPRTNT**

**wht do i say 2 hm? **

**SPNCE?**

**Fine ill...thnk of smthng**

*~*~*~*~*

Ryan sighs as he watches Brendon wiggle his ass, digging through his duffle bag for the weed. Apparently his dad has super sniffing powers ("but _seriously_, Ryan, you have no idea how much of tenth grade I spent grounded, or how much money I lost replacing confiscated weed") and it had to be buried. Ryan's been trying to talk to Brendon all _day_, but it isn't exactly the kind of thing you just _bring up_. Maybe the weed will help. _Finally_, Brendon comes up grinning and offers him the lighter.

Ryan still has no idea where to go from here. He lights up.

The tiny tent fills up with fumes pretty quickly, and Ryan maybe inhales deeper and more quickly than he normally would because, just, this _conversation_.

Brendon gets giggly pretty fast himself, and since this is--oh yeah, totally Jon's best--he will be for a while. He's also talking _a lot_, but actually that is one of Ryan's favorite things about getting high with Brendon, because Brendon isn't really talking much more than normal, but Ryan has an excuse for not listening.

And for staring. Seriously, has Brendon's mouth _always_ been this obscene? (Sadly, the answer is yes. And normally when he's high he can just appreciate it, he's always just appreciated it when he's high, but now he can't even _enjoy_ appreciating it, fucking earplugs--)

"--we totally should!"

"What?" Ryan shakes his head, tries to focus. "Yeah, yeah, we should." And somehow he's stumbling along the path to the lake, nearly falling over every time Brendon tugs his hand a little too hard. They come out onto the shoreline, where the lake is glinting in the moonlight, run to end of the dock, and Brendon drops Ryan's hand to pull his own shirt off.

Brendon's pants and underwear are halfway down his legs before Ryan manages to stop staring at his nipple long enough to ask, "What?"

Brendon kicks free and reaches for the knot of Ryan's neckerchief, pot-sweet breath heavy in Ryan's face as he fumbles at the nape of Ryan's neck. He grins broadly. "Skinny-dipping, Ryan Ross," and then he giggles as the neckerchief drops to the ground and his hands drop to Ryan's waist, fingers sliding up under his shirt.

Ryan tries to put together some kind of objection, but Brendon's fingers are brushing against his skin and the moonlight is really pretty and shimmery and his brain is sort of off-line. He gets his mouth open just in time to swallow a mouthful of lake water when Brendon pushes him in.

He's occupied for a few minutes with, you know, _not drowning_, with tackling Brendon and trying to hold his head under in revenge, but then his dick brushes against Brendon's leg and the thing is. The thing is. The thing is, Ryan really wants Jim to be right.

He shoves himself back a little, ducking under the arm Brendon's trying to dunk him with, and blurts out, "You know your family thinks we're fucking, right?"

Brendon stares at him a moment, and Ryan waits, breathless.

Brendon starts to laugh, not just silly little pot-giggles, but honest-to-god guffaws, and Ryan. Ryan's feelings are a little hurt, all right, there's no call for that, it's not that ridiculous, and Brendon's mouth is open as he wheezes for air and it's really pretty, and Ryan has to shut him up somehow before this gets really awful, and.

Ryan kisses him.

Ryan grabs Brendon by the shoulders and presses his mouth to the swell of Brendon's bottom lip, mouthing at the skin, and wait, wait, Brendon _laughed_, Brendon doesn't, but when he pulls back Brendon asks, "Really?" and dives for him, yanks him close by the elbows, pushes up for a kiss.

"Yeah," Ryan finds himself saying, "yeah, yeah, really, god, _Brendon_," and there are some really awesome moments there of cool water and wet skin and hot, sweet mouths before Brendon tries to climb him, wrap his legs around Ryan's waist, and they both go under.

They splutter apart, laughing, and Brendon says, "Tent?"

Ryan smiles back. "Tent."

They bundle their clothes in their arms and hurry back through the woods. Ryan barely even notices the stones and sticks beneath his feet, fascinated by the white skin of Brendon's ass in the moonlight. When they get back to the tent he lets his clothes spill out of his arms so he can grab Brendon from behind, nip at the back of Brendon's neck. Brendon whimpers and arches back into him, ass pressing against Ryan's dick.

He turns in Ryan's arms, kissing him hungrily, scrabbling at Ryan's shoulders as he tries to climb higher, to rub himself against every inch of Ryan's skin, and Ryan gropes him back, skin-hungry, happy. His fingertips catch on the curve of Brendon's ass, the bumps of his spine, the little dip before his first rib that makes him shriek with laughter when tickled, but now just makes him whimper again, low and sweet, and clutch at Ryan's hair.

Ryan laughs, low, and explores that little hollow with his hand, smoothing along the bottom of Brendon's ribcage as he keens and rocks against Ryan's leg until Ryan gives in and falls to his knees. He follows the trail of his hand with his mouth and tongue, scraping his teeth just under Brendon's sternum before he nibbles his way down to Brendon's cock and sucks lightly on the swollen head.

Brendon moans, startlingly deep. "Ryan, oh god, oh god, Ryan, _please_," and before Ryan can even ask what Brendon wants there's come spurting onto his chin, his cheek.

Brendon gives a strangled little laugh and drops down beside him, murmuring, "Sorry, sorry," as he wipes Ryan's face clean with his thumb and kisses him. Ryan's pretty sure he should be mocking right now, but Brendon's _hand_ is on his _cock_ and he just _came on Ryan's face_ without even meaning to, which, okay, maybe Ryan has a thing for people finding him hot, and he doesn't last long either, groaning into Brendon's mouth as he comes.

They stay there, panting against one another's necks, for a few moments. "Wow," Brendon says, finally, sounding giddy, and kisses Ryan's earlobe.

Ryan laughs, a little hysterically. "Yeah. Wow." He smiles as Brendon offers his mouth again, drinks him in as they ease down to the sleeping bags, hands gliding along each other's bodies, slowing as they drift off to sleep.

*~*~*~*~*

When Ryan wakes up, his teeth are chattering with chill, and he automatically snuggles closer to the warm body next to him, but--that can't be right.

He sits up, wrapping his arms around himself, _freezing_, and then he looks down, and his whole heart stops.

That's Brendon, that's Brendon and he's _naked_, and so is Ryan, and there is _come_ matting Ryan's _hair_, he can _smell it_ and oh god oh god oh god _what have they done_?

He snatches at the nearest pair of pants and shoves his feet into them, slipping out of the tent into a pearly, frigid dawn and stumbling down to the icy lake. He splashes a little frantically, scrubbing at the sticky bit of his hair and trying to wake up.

Sex. He had sex. With Brendon. _Sex_. With _Brendon_.

He has to call Spencer, he has to call Spencer _right now_. He fumbles at the pockets of his pants, and breathes a sigh of relief when his Sidekick bumps against his hand. He presses the button to call Spencer with a shaky finger.

It rings and rings and rings until Spencer's voicemail picks up. _Goddamn_ him for developing a habit of calling Spencer at oh-god-thirty to tell him about new lyrics, anyway, Spencer _never_ used to ignore Ryan's calls.

"Spencer? Spencer, god, I just had sex with Brendon. I--we were _high_, we were--I don't know, I think there was skinny dipping? And then I woke up and we were _naked_, I--Spencer, I don't know what to do, he was high as a _kite_, seriously, what if he didn't mean it? What if he doesn't--Spencer, what am I gonna _do_ if he doesn't really want me? I can't face it, I can't face _him_ if he doesn't--Spencer, how can I--oh, god, this is stupid. Call me back, please, _please_ call me back."

He clicks the phone off and lets it drop to his side, head drooping. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

*~*~*~*~*

Eventually even Ryan has to give up angsting and get on with his life. There is absolutely no question of going back to the tent, so he heads for the firepit instead, and starts a fire.

Okay, it takes him a few--eleven--tries, but there is flame eventually.

Next ought to be breakfast, which is supposed to be the leftover fish, reheated, and the last of the bread. Ryan eyes the sort of spit-thing warily. He's fully prepared to do battle; he's just not convinced that he'll win.

Fortunately, at that moment Mr. Urie climbs out of his tent, yawning.

"Ryan?"

"Morning," Ryan says, trying to smile. "I got the fire going, but..."

"Yeah, no, I'll do the fish," Mr. Urie says hastily, grabbing the pan part of the spit-thing and taking it over the cooler.

Ryan works on getting out plates and the bread, and they work in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Mark stumbles in, and then Jim, and finally Brendon, moving carefully like his head hurts.

Ryan watches Brendon out of the corner of his eye, trying to pretend that he isn't. Finally Brendon catches him at it. Brendon smiles tentatively; it's the kind of smile that _could_ mean anything at all...but _maybe_ things will be all right. Ryan goes to sit beside him, to wait for breakfast, and Brendon gets up and sits on the other side of the fire, next to Mark.

Well.

That was...right, not at all unexpected. But--it _could_ be a fluke. Maybe Brendon just wanted to sit by his brother.

He tries again when they're packing up, walks up behind Brendon and puts his chin on Brendon's shoulder. Brendon flinches away. That...that's something that pretty much speaks for itself.

Ryan helps pack up the rest of the gear with a lump in his throat. As they're climbing into the car, he clears his throat.

"Is there a chance you could drop me at my place? It's pretty much on your way."

"Sure, Ryan," Mr. Urie says, glancing at him in the mirror.

"I thought I was gonna drive you home, Ry." Brendon gives him a disbelieving look. He probably thinks they should _talk about it_, god, Ryan would rather slit a knife right across his tattoos.

"Yeah, no, I want to get home," he says, flatly; Brendon's face closes down.

"Yeah, okay."

*~*~*~*~*

The ride back to civilization is the most awkward thing in the history of _ever_.

Ryan gets home and climbs in the shower and if he maybe cries a little bit nobody could tell because the water mixes with the tears, and so it is totally proof of how long Spencer has known him that he barges into the apartment and immediately folds him into a hug. Ryan curls into Spencer's space and holds on for a long, long time.

The bus leaves the next morning, and Ryan hugs Jon, who is looking jet-lagged, and goes to hide in his bunk before he has to face Brendon.

He can hear Spencer and Jon talking in the lounge, though.

"But he's _freaking out_, I don't--"

"I guess when they--"

"He doesn't seriously think that--"

"Dude, he totally does--"

"But why--"

"--his family, I guess, but--"

"Oh my _god_ they are such--"

And just when Ryan's about to defend himself, because it is _not his fault_, okay, whatever--he hears "Brendon! Hey, man--no, no no, sit. Sit. Listen to this."

And that can't be good.

Ryan gets up, because there is _no telling_ what Jon is going to tell Brendon, but when he gets to the lounge door, he sees Brendon holding Spencer's Sidekick up to his ear, and dude. Dude. That is _so much worse_ than Jon saying _anything_ that Ryan is kind of frozen in horror, right up until Brendon's face changes and he drops the phone and walks across the lounge and kisses Ryan on the mouth.

Oh. _Oh._

Ryan kind of melts into it, because how can he _not_; Brendon is whispering in between kisses that he is sorry, so sorrysorry, Ry, god, yes, he wants him, he _loves_ him, and Ryan jerks back a little at that. "Then why were you--?"

Brendon rests his forehead against Ryan's. "I just--my family, I didn't--I wasn't ready for them to know, I'm _not_\--" and Ryan starts to laugh, a little hysterically. Spencer snorts.

Jon and Brendon ask at once, "Ryan?"

Ryan's still a little too busy sniggering to answer; Spencer has to say it for him. "Dude. Dude, Bden, they already think you are, they--they think you've been together for _years_, Bren. Your dad brought _earplugs_."

Brendon's jaw drops. "He--they do _not_."

Ryan grins and fishes in Brendon's jacket pocket for his Sidekick. He scrolls through the address book until he finds Jim's name, and hits the call button and the one for speakerphone.

Jim picks up with, "Brendon?"

"Hey, Jim, uh--"

"I just got in, man, I'm at baggage claim...it was sweet of you to check on me and everything, but--"

"Oh, no, yeah, I get it, Brittney hasn't seen you in ages. Just, um, I wanted to ask you something."

"Sure."

"What--what would you say if--if I told you Ryan and I were--together? I mean, you know, like--I'm kind of in love with him."

"There a reason you've decided to tell me _now_, Brendon?" Jim sounds fondly exasperated. "I mean, I just assumed that since you haven't made any official announcements over the past zillion years, we were just going to let mom and dad never actually say it out loud. It's been working so far. You changing the plan? Because I really don't think I can take on a new project at work if there's going to be official drama."

Brendon is sort of ridiculously adorable when he has no words. "No--no, man, I--go for it, somebody has to keep Sarah in plastic jewelry."

"Like you don't buy her something shiny every time you go within ten feet of a toy store."

"Well, somebody has to feed and clothe her, then."

"Right. Talk to you soon?"

"Yeah. Give the girls kisses for me."

"Will do."

Jim hangs up, and Ryan smirks down at Brendon, whose eyes are wide in amazement.

"Ryan Ross, Jim thinks you're his brother-in-law."

Ryan grins and whispers, "Can I be?" and Brendon kisses him again, wild and enthusiastic and happy, happy, happy.

Spencer coughs discreetly, and Brendon breaks away, laughing.

"Get a room, guys," Spencer says indulgently.

"We're gonna go...talk about--about fishing," Brendon announces.

Jon laughs. "That code, now?"

"It is totally, totally code, Jon Walker," Brendon calls back, tugging Ryan toward the bunks by his beltloops. "Ryan totally hooked me with his pretty, pretty flies."


End file.
